


Lucky 19

by vissy



Category: Whistle!
Genre: Fujishiro/Fuwa - Freeform, M/M, summerflinging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-30
Updated: 2006-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-02 03:12:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vissy/pseuds/vissy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soccer’s not the only beautiful game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky 19

**Author's Note:**

> Set during Volume 12. Written for the [Summerflinging](http://community.livejournal.com/summerflinging/) challenge.

After inciting a useful spot of violence between Mikami and Mamiya over who deserved top bunk, Seiji snuck out of the room while Katsurou busied himself playing guardian deity and brokering a peace deal. Seiji really was very fond of his schoolmates, but there was something seriously wrong with the viper’s digestive tract, and Seiji needed fresh air.

It was dark and warm outside, and he picked a careful path towards the practice fields. To his surprise, he was not alone; there was a shadowy figure jogging at the far end of the ground. It materialised gradually into the spike-haired, bare-footed form of Fuwa Daichi in tracksuit pants and a number 19 bib; Seiji grinned and shucked off his own shoes, then fell in beside Fuwa for the next lap. He wished he hadn’t put his matching practice bib in the laundry basket.

They ran in silence for several minutes before Fuwa broke and asked, “Why are you here?”

Seiji laughed at Fuwa’s terse tone. “Just restless. How about you?”

“The cook gave me caramel pudding for lunch. I am jogging at this pace for fifteen and a half minutes in order to burn off the unnecessary calories.” He looked at his watch, then glanced at Seiji for the first time. “Also, Koiwa is very loud.”

Seiji felt touched by the admission; it didn’t seem like Fuwa to offer anything beyond a straightforward account of facts, and that last statement had been expressed in a more confiding tone than Seiji had come to expect from him. It was hard to make out Fuwa’s expression in the dark, but Seiji imagined it was much as usual: impassivity marked by a hint of madness. It made Seiji want to poke him, or perhaps hug him; he hadn’t decided yet. There was just something about Fuwa, about the reluctant brilliance he brought to the game, that fired a missionary zeal inside Seiji; Fuwa must be forced to love soccer whether he liked it or not.

Seiji recalled Koiwa, the guy who had bested his own 50m time in bare feet. Even if he did have dyed hair and a lame superhero nickname, Seiji thought Koiwa might be onto something with the whole no-shoes thing; the damp grass felt blissful between Seiji’s toes. “You could always tell him to shut up. For that matter, you could just say no to dessert too, although why you’d want to I don’t know. Anyhow, you seem like the sort of guy who can stand up for himself.”

“Hm.” They had reached Seiji’s sneakers again and Fuwa stopped abruptly, checking his watch once more. “That has been sufficient exercise to account for the pudding.”

“What? But that’s totally slack - I haven’t even worked up a sweat yet,” said Seiji. He circled Fuwa in a series of exaggerated lunges, trying to wind him up. “Let’s keep jogging.”

Fuwa looked at him steadily. “Kazamatsuri has been encouraging me to empathise with others. You trained as hard as anyone today, and consumed less food; you did in fact pass some of your food to your neighbours.”

“Just the carrots!”

“Nonetheless, it is unlikely that you require further exercise at this time. Also, considering that there is inadequate light for training and that we have been asked to stay off the playing fields outside allocated hours, there is no purpose for your presence here. Do you want my company?”

That stopped Seiji mid-lunge. “Fuwa…”

“If you desired company, your friends are back in the dorm. Instead you came outside, presumably with the expectation of being alone. When you discovered my presence you joined me rather than staying alone, so I conclude that you want my company. Do you like me?”

“Fuwa!”

Fuwa cocked his head. “Kazamatsuri has been encouraging me to empathise with others.”

“Yeah, you said that already.” It was a good thing Fuwa wouldn’t be able to see how hot Seiji’s cheeks were burning, although he wasn’t certain if Fuwa had much skill at reading faces anyhow. “Do you always think out loud like this?”

“If I always thought out loud, I would never shut up.”

“I guess not,” said Seiji. He laughed, although he really couldn’t tell if Fuwa was joking or not. Fuwa was just so weird, and it hadn’t ever occurred to Seiji before that that was a quality he might like in a guy. Weird meant someone like Mamiya, whose boundary issues ranged from mushing incompatible foods to on-field stalking; Fuwa was a different sort of weird altogether. Seiji flopped down on the grass and stared up at Fuwa, whose head was still tilted to one side like he was giving Seiji his undivided attention. It made Seiji feel happy and nervous at the same time.

“You could tell me to shut up.”

Seiji sighed. “Man, you’re like a robot sometimes. Stop repeating everything you hear like they’re lessons you have to learn.” He patted the ground beside him invitingly. “Just be human, okay? I know you can be cool. This is not a test, I promise.”

Fuwa sat down, slow and wary, then stretched out on his back beside Seiji, and deep inside Seiji there was a silent crow of _‘Lucky!’_ “This grass is wet.”

“Yeah, it’s great, huh?” Seiji gazed up at the clear night sky, basking in the dampness beneath him, the sharp scent of the grass. He could hear a faint whirr of dragonfly wings in the distance, and closer, Fuwa’s quiet, steady breathing. “Look at those stars up there. Don’t normally see them so bright. I wish they’d put the sprinklers on again - I’d be dancing through them like a maniac.”

“Hm. The grass makes Kazamatsuri happy also. I wanted to know what it is about this grass that makes him smile.” Seiji was amused by Fuwa’s reaction to this apparently bizarre concept of fun; he was beginning to recognise the internal computational process that seemed to be Fuwa’s default state.

“Have you drawn a conclusion?” he asked.

“No. Although it has given me a mild rash on my arms and legs,” said Fuwa simply.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Seiji snorted. “I don’t believe you.”

He felt the strangely heavy weight of Fuwa’s eyes and looked over to see Fuwa roll onto his side, prop his head in his hand and stretch his right arm towards Seiji. Seiji’s breath caught and then shivered; Fuwa’s move had brought them closer, almost within tackling range, and that was something Seiji was all for, except that he’d assumed he’d be the one doing the tackling.

Fuwa waved his arm, an impatient pale blur before Seiji’s eyes, and said, “See?”

Seiji took Fuwa’s hand in his own; his thumb pressed into the humid cup of Fuwa’s palm, and their fingers curled naturally about one another. Seiji cleared his throat and asked, “What am I looking at?”

“The rash on my arm. You expressed disbelief in its existence.”

“Dummy,” said Seiji, squeezing Fuwa’s hand. “I expressed disbelief in your ability to suck all the fun out of messing around on a damp soccer field on a hot summer night. The rash I believe in, although I can’t see it in the dark.”

“That is curious. I would expect a striker of your ability to have excellent vision. Perhaps you have a vitamin A deficiency. A balanced diet including carr-”

“That stuff about carrots is total crap and you know it!” Seiji scoffed. He almost flung Fuwa’s arm off when he noticed the faint tremor in his grasp, and that was just more weird on top of the previous weird, and yeah, Seiji could get used to this. “Man, you had me for a moment there. I think I’m actually starting to figure out your sense of humour.”

“I have no sense of humour.” Fuwa sat up and twisted his grip, and before Seiji could open his mouth again, he’d been pinned back against the ground, with Fuwa’s arm stretched across his face; the tip of Seiji’s nose just touched Fuwa’s skin, which was toddler soft and smelled of sweat. “Can you see me better now?”

Seiji’s soft laughter brushed back against his own face. “Sh’yeah, right. You know, if you really do have a rash, rubbing it all over me is kind of gross. The whole armpit visual’s really rocking my world, though. Seriously.”

“Allergies are not contagious.” Fuwa pulled back a little, although Seiji was still held down firmly by the wrists; there was a ruthless strength in Fuwa’s fingers, and Seiji remembered poor Ryo-kun back at Musashi no Mori, who’d been a gibbering mess after Fuwa had stripped him down and tied him up.

Seiji, on the other hand, had been…interested.

There was no denying that Fuwa looked somewhat demonic by moonlight, and Seiji had to remind himself that they were the same age and size. And, of course, that he was the better soccer player by far. “I hear you’re known as the Crusher at Jyousui.”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t do so well against me today, though, huh? You didn’t read that backheel pass at all.”

“Hm.” Fuwa released one of Seiji’s hands and traced a gentle finger over his right cheekbone, catching lightly on the mole beneath Seiji’s eye. “But I did see your wink.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a cheeky guy.” Seiji’s eyelashes feathered against Fuwa’s fingertip, and he swiped at Fuwa’s palm with his tongue, tasting the salt there. “You’ll get used to me.”

“You licked me.” Fuwa’s voice sounded as grim as ever, and he stopped touching Seiji for a heartstopping moment in which Seiji had time to wonder if he was going to get smacked, before Fuwa touched Seiji’s mouth and urged his lips apart, and Seiji took his finger inside like instinct.

It sounded wet and embarassing as he suckled at Fuwa’s finger, bossing it about with his tongue, and nothing had ever felt hotter, not in a lifetime of summers; he had to force himself not to bite at Fuwa’s knuckles, so sharp was the hunger growing inside him. When Fuwa finally pulled his finger free, leaving a thin line of spit down Seiji’s chin, Seiji grinned and said, “Tastes better than carrots, anyhow.”

“That’s interesting.” Fuwa touched Seiji’s mole again, like he couldn’t help himself. “This looks like a ladybug.”

That cracked Seiji up. “Okay, now that we’ve both damned each other with totally crap praise, get down here and kiss me, all right?” He tugged at Fuwa’s bib and was still sniggering when their mouths met, which made their lips fit wrong until Fuwa gathered Seiji’s cheek in his hand and guided the kiss with precision adjustments until it made something like sense. Seiji wasn’t the biggest fan of sense, no matter how amazing it felt, and he tried his best to mess with Fuwa’s rhythm with a stealth operation of stray tickles and licks, but Fuwa turned out to be a crusher after all, and it was all Seiji could do just to catch his breath and ask, “So what do you think of the grass now?”

“It is comfortable,” Fuwa said, nuzzling beneath Seiji’s chin.

“You mean _I’m_ comfortable,” Seiji panted. “Have I answered your question yet?”

Fuwa halted his sabotage operations on Seiji’s neck and said, “I have forgotten the question.”

Seiji was sort of proud to hear he was having a detrimental effect on Fuwa’s brain capacity. “You know: do I _like _you?”

Fuwa took Seiji’s face between his hands, and although he still looked scary, his thumbs caught gently in the corners of Seiji’s smile. “Study indicates that you like me very much. I believe, however, that we would benefit from further research into this matter.”

“Lucky,” Seiji whispered, silently blessing whatever impulse had drawn him out tonight. Chance, Koiwa’s noise pollution or Mamiya’s gastrointestinal issues, Seiji didn’t care; he’d _scored_.

“Also, I should receive independent verification of my conclusion tomorrow,” Fuwa continued, as he touched Seiji’s nape meaningfully.

“Oh, shi-” Seiji groaned, before Fuwa covered his mouth once more. Seiji could feel the bruises rising on his neck already, but maybe he’d be able to pass them off as a rash.


End file.
